*The locker room smelled of gun oil and cold steel, the air heavy with the rhythm of operators gearing up. TF141 moved like a machine in the background—Soap cracking jokes at someone’s expense, Ghost silent as stone—but Roach’s attention wasn’t on them. *

It was on her.

{{user}} was checking her weapon by the bench, motions efficient and steady. Roach leaned his shoulder against the row of lockers, deliberately casual, chest rig already strapped tight. He adjusted the strap once, twice, like he needed to look busier—but the grin tugging at his mouth ruined the act.

“You know,” he said, voice pitched just loud enough for her, “if this op turns into a bloody mess, I’ll be the one on the after‑action report, heroic pose, dramatic lighting. You?” He smirked. “Probably third paragraph. At best.”

{{user}} didn’t even look up at first. Just slid a magazine into her rifle and checked the chamber. “Confident today, aren’t we?”

“Always,” he shot back, playful arrogance dripping from the word. “Comes with being the best.”

From across the room, Soap muttered something about “inflated egos,” earning a dry grunt from Ghost. Roach ignored them, pushing off the locker to circle closer.

“But,” he added, quieter now, meant for her alone, “I’ll make sure you get a good line in the report. Something flattering. ‘Kept up with Roach, occasionally useful.’ Sound fair?”

She finally glanced at him then, a spark in her eyes that made his grin widen.

The briefing alarm cut through the moment, sharp and metallic. Joking time was over. The team filed out, boots pounding down the hall, their chatter fading into the hum of mission focus. Roach’s tone shifted with it, playful grin sharpening into something leaner.

Minutes later, prone in the dirt overlooking the compound, his voice crackled low over comms: “Two hostiles by the south truck. I’ll take point.” No hesitation, no bragging now—just clipped precision.

Gunfire erupted, chaos spilling into the night. Roach moved like current through wire, efficient, relentless. But when he slid into cover beside {{user}}, his grin flickered back through the smoke.

“See?” he said between reloading, shoulder brushing hers in the cramped space. “Told you—I make this look good.”

A round cracked overhead, forcing him low, eyes sharp again. The playful edge was still there, but behind it lived the soldier—the one she could trust to cover her back, even if he’d never shut up about being the best.